Incense, bongo drums, long hair, faded jeans and gypsy skirts... the sunset gathering on the beach was nothing short of groovy. Barefoot locals of all ages gathered in a circle, sporting drums, pots and pans, even five-gallon drywall buckets - anything to keep the beat.

I hadn't witnessed anything quite like this before, even as a flower child of the '60s; though the mood of unabashed "love, peace and happiness" was reminiscent of that revolutionary era. Children rocked and bounced without inhibition and ladies danced, bellies undulating to the pulsating rhythms. One woman swirled feathers, another performed with swords and fire and yet another pranced the fringes of the circle, offering a rose to each of the onlookers who were either content to sit and watch, or who were just too timid to join in. I was one.

It was my first encounter with a "drum circle," this one, at Siesta Key Public Beach. The ritual occurs almost every Sunday evening, just south of the main pavilion,

Professionals letting loose

beginning about one hour before sunset. Friends invited my husband, Patrick and me to accompany them to this event, one of their favorites.

It seemed like a hippie-populated love-fest. Kudos for their soulful commitment to a spirit of love for mankind and respect for nature, yet I wondered about their collective choice to relinquish the mental and financial rewards of the business world.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

It's Wednesday night on Casey Key. The drive along this narrow, barrier island is breathtaking. Gary navigates carefully down the winding roads where, as realtor Pam points out, the rich and famous have plopped their sprawling mansions in the midst of the lush tropical foliage, squarely facing the sparkling shores of the gulf.

We arrive at Nokomis Beach in time for the Casey Key Drum Circle and find a scene not unlike the one on Siesta Key. Talk about a dichotomy. In the midst of an abundance of affluence, we come upon women clad in coin belts and fringed scarves and tattooed men drenched in dreadlocks and dissidence.

A man called Freedom begins pounding on his bongo; another man joins in, and one by one, the drummers spark the ceremony's initiation. One woman, then two, then three, enter the circle, gyrating their hips to the beat. There aren't as many drummers, dancers or spectators here as at Siesta, perhaps because it's mid-week; however, the spirit is just as intense.

One dancer, in particular, catches our eye. She bears a striking resemblance to Barbie Benton (really), has long
dark tresses and is wearing a '60s orange midriff top and bellbottom jeans. She never stops dancing, moving, smiling. She motions to... me! "Come dance!" she says. Well. I am having a bad hair day, my husband doesn't like me to make a spectacle of myself and I don't want to embarrass myself in front of my friends. Yet, I rise up, shimmy over to her, and dance with her in the center of the circle.

At first, I'm nervous and self-conscious. But something magical happens... I lose awareness of myself and of the crowd; I feel the cool sand beneath my feet, the pounding of the drums in my heart, and unity with the players, gulf waters and setting sun. It was at that moment, I understood.

What I hadn't realized was that my new friend owns retail stores throughout the U.S. and in Puerto Rico. And the last belly dancer to join the circle is a very successful lawyer. The "feather lady" from Siesta? A plastic surgeon. And the sword and fire dancer, a cardiologist.

"We're all corporate," the Barbie look-alike says, "To me, this is meditation ... it's all about joy; connecting to spirit." Freedom adds, "It's an ode to beauty and freedom. There's nothing about the drum circle that says, 'you're not welcome.'"

Now it's dark, but the beat goes on, and a few shadowing figures remain. I find myself among them, freely dancing and twirling to the native rhythms of the night.